I try to think about who I am and what I know, but I don’t know what any of that means. It’s a thing off in the distance, someplace that I thought I might have been, even convinced myself of that, and have now lost.
I know what I want to be. No, that’s a lie too. Even if I said that I knew what I want, or that I thought that I knew that, I wouldn’t. The more I think that I know the who and what, the more I’m further from it because I think that. It’s a façade.
Confidence is the thing, believing in those lies is what makes you that you in you. The deeper you get, the further you are from the same. A gosh-darned paradox!
And so…something else. Drugs and whores! No confusion there. Or all confusion. Signs of it all gone awry. At least it’s not a façade. Or the façade of facades. Good copy anyway.
And then you don’t, and everything goes down with that, making you feel like nothing, certainly nothing like before, when you said and did things like you knew what you were doing. It’s not just the big things – death and disease and Trump – but more the tiny bits suddenly gone – train delay, store closed, panhandler no longer there – creating doubt about what might be next. No job, no love, civilization done. And then we have to get used to that.